


The Language of Flowers

by fiftymillionstars



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/F, Humanstuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-20
Updated: 2012-09-20
Packaged: 2017-11-14 15:57:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/517064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fiftymillionstars/pseuds/fiftymillionstars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vriska ponders the meaning behind a gift bouquet; later, there are kisses.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Language of Flowers

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [I Like My Women How I Like My Coffee](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/11576) by cloudyidealist. 



> written as a quick sequel to something a friend wrote; again, it's an older piece
> 
> i have no excuse for this except for "there were all these feelings I was having and I needed to do something with them"
> 
> one day I will publish something else I'm actually proud of up on this account but today is _not that day_

It’s been three months since you re-entered the corporate world and so far things are going swimmingly. You’ve got some dumb job moving boxes in some warehouse downtown. It’s not enjoyable work by any stretch of the imagination, but the pay is surprisingly high so you’re not complaining.

Well. Not complaining too much.

“This job is so stuuuuuuuupid, ugh!”

You’re sprawled out on your couch, back and shoulders aching like nobody’s business. Kanaya’s stopped by like she’s been doing. Currently she’s rearranging the flowers she brought over; this time it’s a bouquet of rose of Sharon and yellow acacia. At least, that’s what Kanaya said when she brought them; the roses look more like hibiscus to you but what do you know?

“Your back hurts?” Kanaya stops fussing with the flowers and perches herself on the arm of the couch, looking at you.

You nod.

“Sit up, then,” Kanaya says. You narrow your eyes at her.

She motions at you with her hands. “Up. Up.”

You let out a long-suffering groan and haul your body up. Kanaya sits down behind you, places her hands on your shoulders, and begins to rub.

“Oh,” you say.

“My mother is a massage therapist,” Kanaya comments. “I’ve picked up a thing or two.”

You close your eyes, letting out the occasional appreciative grunt. After a while Kanaya’s hands leave your neck; her arms snake around your waist, pulling you into a hug. You lean backwards out of surprise more than compliance.

Kanaya is soft and warm; she smells faintly of flowers. It’s quite easy to relax against her. She bows her head and it bumps against yours—was that supposed to be a kiss? Your heart picks up speed.

“So what’s the meaning of the flowers over there?” you ask, trying to calm your heart down, even though you don’t understand why it’s beating so fast.

“Hmmm,” Kanaya hums, nose still in your hair.

“That’s not an answer,” you protest.

The two of you lay like that for a while, Kanaya’s arms resting on your sternum, your head resting against her cheek. Suddenly you want to kiss her. Suddenly you realise you’ve been wanting to kiss her.

Suddenly you realise you have no idea what you’re thinking and escape to your bathroom is a good idea right now.

You stare at your face in the bathroom mirror. Bright blue eyes framed by tangled dark hair gaze back at you; an unusual combination, or so you’ve been told by every single fucking person who notices.

Kanaya said it was pretty.

You let your head thunk against the mirror.

You suppose it’s about time you faced the music and admitted to yourself that your feelings for Kanaya have long since rocketed out of the friend zone and landed smack dab in the middle of the mushy romance section of the bookstore.

It’s not like you’re weirded out by liking a girl; you’ve liked girls before. You don’t give a fuck about boobs or dick or whatever, so long as they can satisfy you. No; what’s holding you back from confessing to Kanaya is you don’t want to lose her. She’s so prim and proper, and while she seems to genuinely care about you, it’s not hard for you to imagine her being offput —or even repulsed, God forbid— by your feelings for her.

And you really, really don’t want to lose her. She’s the first person since your dim memories of your mother that’s showered you with this much genuine affection and… You don’t want to lose that. You really don’t want to lose that.

So you’re reduced to to staring at yourself in the mirror and thinking about how pathetic this entire situation is.

When you reemerge from the bathroom, Johnny’s curled up on Kanaya’s lap, his stubby tail twitching. The lack of tail is the reason why you ended up with him; it’s also the reason Johnny’s launched himself off of things and landed on his face.

What can you say, he’s a cute cat.

Kanaya gives you a concerned look. “Are you okay, Vriska?”

You smile and it comes out forced. “Yeah.”

She pats the couch cushion next to her and you obligingly sit down, casually slinging an arm over Kanaya’s shoulder. She leans her head against yours. You sigh.

And then you decide that fuck everything, Kanaya’s given you roses today and even if they don’t look like actual roses they mean love (even you know that) so you turn your head and kiss her on the cheek. Then you stare at a spot on the ceiling and pretend you didn’t.

Kanaya inhales sharply, letting out a quiet “oh”. You swallow hard.

And then there’s a pair of soft lips pressing against your cheek and warm breath on your neck.

Oh, you think, oh is right.

And because you have no patience or self-control, your next move is to turn sideways and kiss Kanaya.

She lets out a surprised squeak but responds eagerly, wrapping her arms around you, tangling one hand in your unruly hair. You press her close to you, kissing her lips, her cheek, her neck.

“Vriska,” she gasps. “Vriska.”

You nuzzle her neck, laughing. You’re happy. So happy.

“Rose of Sharon,” she murmurs. “Consumed by love. Yellow acacia, secret love.”

She tastes like nectar.


End file.
